The Argosy — page 127: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I1I2Z CARAMEL COTTAGE: DISAPPEARED. (jo was setting in beautifully. Some people say it is the most lovely month in the year when the skies are blue and genial. Seated at the breakfast-table at Caramel Cottage that ‘Tuesday morning, with the window thrown open to the warm and pleasant air, the small party of three might have enjoyed that air, but for being pre- occupied with their own reflections. Edgar Reste was thinking of the bank notes which the postman had just brought him in Captain. Amphlett’s letter ; Katrine Barbary sat shrinking from the vague fear imparted to her by the curious avowal her father had made in language not too choice, as his covetous eyes rested on the money : “ For that, a man might be tempted to smother his grandmother.” While Mr. Barbary had started instantly up and flung the window higher, as if in the silence that followed the words, they had struck back upon himself unpleasantly, and he sought to divert attention from them. ‘““A grand day for the outlying crops,” he remarked, his lithe, slender form, his pale, perfect features, showing out well in the light of the brilliant morning. ‘But most of the grain is in, I think. We shall have a charming walk to Church Leet, Edgar.” “Ves,” assented Mr. Reste, as he folded the notes together and placed them in his pocket-book. There were six of them for A10 each. Breakfast over, Katrine set off for Dyke Manor that morning as usual, to talk to Lena in French, and teach hertoreadit. She stayed luncheon with us. Chancing to say that her father and his guest were gone to Church Leet, Mrs. Todhetley kept her. At four o’clock, when Katrine went home, she found they had returned, and were then shut up in the gun-room. Katrine could hear the hum of their voices, with now and again a burst of merry laughter from Edgar Reste. ‘“* Have they had dinner ?” she enquired of Joan. ‘““ Ay, sure they have, Miss Katrine. ‘They got back at two o'clock, ~ and I cooked the steak at once.” I had lent Katrine that afternoon the ‘‘ Vicar of Wakefield,’—which she said she had never read ; one could hardly believe such a thing of an English girl, but I suppose it was through her having lived over in France. Taking it into the back garden, she sat down on a rustic bench, one or two of which stood about. By-and-by Edgar Reste came out and sat down beside her. ‘““Had you a nice walk to-day ?” she asked. “Very,” he answered. “ What a quaint little village Church Leet is! Hardly to be called a village, though. Leet Hall is a fine old place.” ECORMICLOOOKS EO) m